Chapter 22
Chapter 22
“Assistant Manager Kim, your opponent is last year’s President’s Cup champion. Park Junsu, currently ranked number one in the amateur standings.”
The man I had seen on the gym corridor earlier, talking on the phone.
So his name was Park Junsu.
Now I understood why he had been brimming with confidence to the point of rudeness.
The branch manager continued without even taking a breath.
“He’s number one in amateur ranking points right now. And it’s overwhelming! His lead over second place is more than double.”
“…He must be good.”
“Good? You’ve seen it, haven’t you? He won the Sudambe National Top Division.”
No wonder he looked familiar.
I might have just glanced at him before.
Of course, I didn’t pay much attention to faces, so I hadn’t remembered him.
The branch manager’s tone grew heavier.
“He’s not an easy opponent. His skill is already at a pro level. He’s here to earn his professional entry points, and he’s coming in determined to win at all costs.”
“But… what are entry points?”
Earlier, Park Junsu had mentioned “entry points” while on the phone in the corridor.
“Ha. You don’t know what entry points are, Assistant Manager Kim?”
The branch manager opened his eyes wide and looked at me.
As if asking, You really don’t know?
Then he nodded and explained.
“There are two ways to become a professional Go player these days. One is the pro entry tournament we all know. Only a very few make it through the competition to become professionals.”
I knew that much.
When I first gained the talent for Go, I searched it up, wondering how to use it.
The process is extremely fierce, and since pro Go players peak in their mid-twenties, at most around thirty, I had quickly given up on that path.
“The other is the entry point system. You accumulate points based on results in various official amateur tournaments. Those accumulated points determine your entry into the professional ranks.”
“So this tournament counts too?”
“Exactly. Top divisions like the President’s Cup and Sudambe give heavy points. They even grant eligibility to participate in the World Amateur Championship. That’s what he’s aiming for.”
I quietly nodded.
Entry points.
Now I understood why Park Junsu was so obsessed.
It’s not for nothing that people say, Becoming a professional Go player is harder than getting into a top Korean university.
He probably wants to use both the entry tournament and the entry point system.
A professional Go player…
What if.
This is really just if.
If I beat Park Junsu today…
What would happen to me?
Could I avoid aiming higher?
One thing is certain: staying here would feel… a little disappointing.
“…It’s fine.”
Even now, it’s not bad.
The total prize money I’ve earned over the past two months is already five million won.
A sum unimaginable with just a salary.
Winning the President’s Cup would add another five million won.
This has already become a side hustle better than my main job.
For now, isn’t this enough?
At least, for now.
“Assistant Manager Kim. The match time is up. Let’s go to your seat.”
I nodded and headed to the board for the National Top Division.
When I found my seat, my opponent was already there across from me.
His bangs neatly trimmed.
A white shirt with crisp creases.
Park Junsu.
“Hello.”
A calm voice.
A hint of politeness in his tone.
“You’re the Sudambe Top Division champion, right? I also won the National Top Division that day. I saw you on the stage. I look forward to today’s game.”
Polite on the surface.
But the faint superiority and annoyance at the end of his words weren’t just my imagination.
Trying to intimidate me?
He deliberately mentioned both National Top Division and Gyeonggi Top Division, a cheap psychological move to claim the upper hand.
I nodded slightly.
“Yes. Let’s have a good game.”
Park Junsu’s gaze flickered subtly.
He seemed slightly annoyed by my brief reply.
I ignored it and sat down.
He followed silently.
Words were few, and in the silence, a tense atmosphere spread.
I opened my Go case.
Park Junsu, sitting opposite, also took out his stones and sorted them.
Clatter.
I’m black.
We bowed to each other.
No more words were necessary.
From now on, moves would speak.
From now on, strategy would justify itself.
Time to battle.
Thud!
The first move officially began the game.
Black and white alternated, placing stones on the hoshi and the 3-4 points.
Next, I calmly claimed the larger areas.
Park Junsu responded immediately, selecting precise joseki to prevent any gap from forming.
A tenacious, territory-focused style.
Supporting this style were AI-based moves, much like Taeyul.
Taking early advantage.
Expanding along the sides, prioritizing territory.
Never starting a fight without favorable conditions.
Certainly, the AI-trained opening flow is similar across games.
Yet, he was still formidable.
Thud.
Early middle game.
I, pushed back in the opening, broke the stalemate.
A daring, diagonal invasion.
The intention was clear.
Disruption.
Breaking the shape of White’s stones.
Inducing a central fight—something territory-focused players dread.
Of course, Park Junsu resisted.
Yet rather than confronting directly, he feigned attacking my stones while trying to expand his side’s territory.
Not working.
I would not allow that flow.
It was already within my calculation.
…I’ll break him.
Against the amateur number one.
The participant closest to professional level.
I was determined to see how far my Go could prevail.
Who the hell is this guy?
Park Junsu muttered harshly in his mind.
The opening wasn’t bad.
Joseki were clean, and territory was reasonably secured.
An ideal flow recommended by AI.
Damn. He’s stubbornly keeping up.
Honestly, he had underestimated me.
Gyeonggi Top Division champion?
What of it.
Park Junsu came from the top tier of the research student first group.
Also, clearly the number one amateur.
He lost in last year’s pro entry finals, but that was just bad luck.
So this time, he widened the gap from the start.
No complacency.
By midgame, he planned to end the match and prepare for the round of 32.
But.
Black didn’t collapse.
With a resilience stronger than a roly-poly, I held my center.
Now, he invaded my shape, aiming to bite at the neck.
What kind of Go is this…
This isn’t just playing well.
Sensory control of tempo.
Pressure that strikes at the core.
Not the efficiency-focused AI-style sequences.
This was alive.
Even his reading was fast.
He began shaking the entire board.
Suddenly, he realized he was the one being pulled along.
He’s not a research student. Yet I’m losing to him?
Infuriating.
And.
A little unnerving.
To struggle this badly from just the round of 64.
Park Junsu had a plan.
A plan of his own.
Win the President’s Cup, earn entry points.
Add more points at the World Amateur Championship.
Then the 33rd CL Cup World Go Masters next month.
Pass the amateur qualifiers, reach the integrated preliminaries, and entry is guaranteed.
But.
From the first match, something felt off.
What made it worse: he wasn’t careless.
He was losing purely by skill.
What could be more infuriating than that?
Then.
“…!”
Beyond his vision.
Behind Inha.
A man watching with arms crossed came into view.
9-dan Kang Hyuk.
Why, why is he here?
Park Junsu inhaled sharply.
A legend.
One of the professional Go players representing Korea.
Recently, he’s often served as an advisor and observer for amateur tournaments.
Right.
Even at Sudambe, that day…
9-dan Kang Hyuk didn’t watch his game.
He watched the Gyeonggi Top Division final instead.
A match clearly a level below his own.
Back then, he passed it off as wanting to see his research student reach the finals.
But.
Could it be… he came to watch this guy’s Go back then too?
Park Junsu clenched his jaw.
His hand gripping the stone tightened.
A pro he respected.
Paying attention to another amateur, not him.
That meant this person played Go with more potential than him.
…I’ll show him. I’m better than this bastard.
His pride, not mere stubbornness, had been challenged.
Harder.
Faster.
Pushing to show strength even in combat.
But.
The more the moves progressed, the more things went slightly wrong.
The board felt like it was closing in.
Move by move.
Slowly, but quickly.
The flow had clearly shifted.
W-wait.
Park Junsu’s gaze flickered.
Until a moment ago, he believed he was ahead.
Now, everything changed.
No, it wasn’t a moment.
It had been a trap from the start.
The dozens of stones he had played were like a web, binding him.
No escape.
Suffocation looming.
Ah.
Park Junsu felt, for a brief instant, as if his breath had stopped.
The initiative in this game.
Was no longer his.
Thud.
I placed my stone quietly.
The flow had completely tilted to my side.
Not intuition, but calculated judgment of the board.
“…”
No change in Park Junsu’s expression.
Yet the trembling of his stones and the breath he drew beyond the board answered for him.
Amateur number one?
I was about to surpass him.
Against an opponent possibly stronger than retired 2-dan Jang Yuna.
I had won purely by skill.
Huh? That person is…?
With some ease, I noticed my surroundings.
9-dan Kang Hyuk.
After the Sudambe finals, he had complimented me for my “human Go” after a long time.
He came to watch again, it seems.
Not unpleasant.
Even for an amateur game, being noticed felt validating.
“I-I lost.”
The moment those words were heard, the air above the board sank.
“Good game.”
I bowed.
Park Junsu gave a formal reply.
But his gaze had changed drastically from when we first met.
Half-dazed.
Hands clutching his head, he couldn’t even gather the stones.
In his trembling fingertips, it felt like I could hear him breaking apart.
“Assistant Manager Kim!”
The branch manager clenched his fist as I stood.
As if celebrating the victory on my behalf.
“You saw that, right? I knew it! I knew you’d win, Assistant Manager Kim!”
He was too excited, drawing some attention.
Perhaps realizing it, he cleared his throat.
“Incredible, as expected.”
“Thank you.”
I quietly stood.
Park Junsu, still reeling from the loss, hadn’t moved.
As I turned to leave…
Huh?
I felt the gaze of people.
Specifically.
Directed at me.
Even participants done with their games and those still playing subtly leaned toward me.
What’s going on?
The branch manager whispered beside me.
“They’re all aware of you, Assistant Manager Kim.”
“Me?”
“At a top division, everyone knows each other’s faces. Many are research students. Some are aiming to become pros.”
He subtly indicated Park Junsu.
“But you just beat the amateur number one. What does that mean?”
He paused, looking at me with a smile.
“Now, you’re someone they have to watch. Not just anyone, but people aiming to go pro.”
Ah.
Now it finally sank in.
I understood my position.
…No wonder the rest of the main tournament is going to be even more fun.